


The Day Same Sex Marriage Legalized

by Mackenzie Blair (Sidney_Allison)



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Episode Related, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, POV First Person, Points of View, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidney_Allison/pseuds/Mackenzie%20Blair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've always wondered what Brian and Justin's reactions would be on the day that same-sex marriage finally became legal? Would it change their decision on the subject?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day Same Sex Marriage Legalized

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to subscribe to Bedeviled's post-canon series since it seems most in line with the characters. So in this, they're living together in a NYC loft, Justin's art career has taken off, and Brian's opened up a branch of Kinnetik there. (Bedeviled's series: http://qaf-fic.com/atp/viewuser.php?uid=876)

June 25, 2011

I wake up later in the morning that I normally do. After all these years, Justin’s ability to sleep until the afternoon seems to be finally rubbing off on me. Still I enjoy mornings in the loft, especially sitting outside on the terrace. New York has grown on me enough that I call it home as often as I do Pittsburg. Not that I ever admit to anyone that I sometimes miss the Pitts. Of course, they already know, so there’s no use belaboring the point.

Justin’s arm blindly reaches over for me as he feels the bed shift when I stand. “What time is it?” he mumbles.

“Still before noon. Keep sleeping,” I say, thinking he probably doesn’t hear my sarcasm. Then again, he’s so used to my sarcasm, it rolls right off him.

“Mmm-kay,” he mumbles, snuggling into the covers after a long, languishing stretch of his gorgeous body. He’s all toned and hard now, the boy long gone, and it’s fucking hot. I feel my morning hard-on stand at full attention. Fuck. I slip back into bed and press up against him from behind.

I can hear him smile. “Back so soon?”

I nip his ear, and he groans. Then I start kneading his hot, pert ass – how it hasn’t changed in all these years is beyond me. A modern miracle. We have slow, gentle morning sex, and seconds after his orgasm, he’s asleep again with a contented sigh.

This time I make it to the kitchen to start the coffee and lean against the counter, feeling only slightly hung over from our debauchery the night before. Last night Justin finally convinced me to go to the interactive, Macbeth avant garde crap, Sleep No More, promising an orgy scene on the top floor. So we went to the old hotel, donned masks, and ran around the place chasing Macbeth actors for hours. And fuck if I’d ever tell him, but it was actually fun, really fun.

Although he probably knows this since much of the fun consisted of me fucking Justin in the shower where the actor – the impressively hung actor – had just showered moments before. Admittedly, I’d accidentally almost fucked two anonymous blondes of his same build before finally finding Justin in the sea of masks and dim lighting. Justin had found it hysterical when he stumbled in during my second mistaken identity realization– I was so appalled at the guy’s average-sized dick when I went to grope it instead of feeling Justin’s magnificent cock, that I literally yelped. Jesus, I’m spoiled by Justin.

But the masks were as much a turn-on as a hindrance. Anonymity meant I let Justin fuck me on the apothecary table. When folks stumbled in, they thought it was part of the show, so we just went with it. Justin’s exhibitionist side is still in full swing despite nearing 30. Jesus, 30. So fucking young. How did I ever think that was old?

I fill up my coffee mug and grab the paper from the hall, then head outside to the terrace. I smile thinking of how, on our way out of the theater or hotel or whatever-the-fuck they call it, they let us know we were banned for life. Guess there are security cameras. Justin blushed in embarrassment, but I couldn’t help point out they’d let us fuck twice, plus a blow job in the fake grave yard, without evicting us right away, so clearly they’d enjoyed the show we’d provided.

The young, gay manager (artsy but hot) had shrugged without shame, “Why the hell do you think I work here? You have no idea the shit I see.”

Oh but I wanted to know. So we had plans to meet the manager (who was apparently a fan of Justin’s art) for drinks later in the week where I promised to get him shit-faced in exchange for all the stories. Fuck, I’ve become Emmett, a gossipy old queen. Even worse, we probably won’t even fuck the hot manager. But shit, bare-backing feels so damn good. Justin and I rarely trick anymore – sure we accept the occasionally anonymous blowjob, but anything more, and we have to go back to condoms. Neither of us have felt it’s worth it for the past year…two years…fuck, I’m a lesbian.

I snap open the paper and freeze at the headline. I knew it was coming, but still, it’s different seeing it in print: Same-Sex Marriage Legalized in New York. And in that moment, everything changes…I literally feel my pulse quicken but I blame it on the strong coffee.

I stare at the headline for long, long moments. Marriage isn’t just for hetero breeders anymore. There goes that fucking argument. Now it’s no longer some make-believe ceremony, a farce in an attempt to pretend to be like straight people. Now it’s legal…for us…with all the benefits legality entails.

I’m halfway back to the bedroom before I realize it. But as my steps slow, I review my thinking – it’s only business. Pure and simple. I have Kinnetik, he has his art career, our finances are commingled, we co-own the NY loft, and we need to make medical decisions in case of an emergency. I’m sure my lawyer will tell us all our partnership papers aren’t as powerful now that marriage is an option. So this isn’t about romance, it’s about fucking practicality.

And I am so full of shit. As I stand at the side of our bed, I stare at his beautiful body and still boyish face that has only become more handsome with the years. I know I want to do this for more than business reasons. I’m tired of fucking calling him “my partner” like we’re cowboys. It doesn’t sound permanent. And no matter how far I’ve come, there’s always a small piece of me wondering when he’ll leave. But something about legally binding him to me makes that worry even smaller. Makes him fucking bound to me…a ball and chain I now apparently want. Shit.

I crawl into bed, and he’s facing away from me. I gently undo the latch on the chain he keeps around his neck where he wears his wedding ring from all those years ago. A ring that’s finally going to be worn where it belongs. Why the hell have I waited? But I know why. It wouldn’t feel real unless it was real; and today that happened.

“Justin,” I whisper. He mumbles. I kiss his shoulder, then gently bite it. “Justin.” Still nothing. Rolling my eyes, I turn his chin and kiss him, my tongue thrusting in hard, waking him up with long, sure strokes, until he’s moaning and kissing me back.

“Morning,” he mumbles. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Fifteen minutes,” I reply. Confused, he looks at me. Normally after morning sex, I let him sleep for a few hours. But not today. “I brought you the morning paper.” His puzzlement grows even greater, but I thrust the front page in his face. His eyes widen as he reads the headline.

“Holy shit, it passed,” he says. I guess neither of us really believed it would happen. Like the last time they tried to pass the law, we figured there’d probably be an appeal or some other legal bullshit, taking it back from the queers. But this time, it looks permanent.

He quickly scans the article, but that’s not why I brought it over to him. I pull the paper down, and he looks up, his eyes finally spotting the ring in my hand. He bites his lip, wondering if I’m serious.

I quirk a brow, “Want to get an appointment at the courthouse?”

He breaks into that sunshine smile he’s famous for and lunges at me, wrapping his hand around my neck, pulling us together for a kiss that leaves us breathless.

He finally pulls back, “Brian Kinney, will you marry me?”

“So now you’re doing the asking?”

He nods. “I want to hear you say it,” he prods.

A thousand snarky comebacks enter my mind, but I’ve matured beyond those. Well, most of the time. Okay, some of this time. But this is one of those moments. “Yes,” I say, firmly. “I will marry you.”

He gives me a quick peck, then throws off the duvet, hops out of bed, and starts opening drawers, “Where’s your ring?”

“Dresser,” I say, and he bounds towards it.

As he hunts for my ring, I start to grow a bit concerned. He’s really excited. Too excited? Have I had it wrong all these years? “Justin…I thought you didn’t care about a wedding and a ceremony and marriage.”

He freezes, and I immediately feel like shit. He thinks I wasn’t sincere, that I was testing him, or joking, or shit—“Don’t panic. I mean it, we’re getting married. But…well, you said…”

He suddenly realizes why I’m worried. Justin flops down next to me. “I didn’t. Really. I think, well, I agreed with you. It felt fake somehow. Like we really would just be putting on a show to be like heteros. And I love our life. I don’t want anything about it to feel…false. But, I don’t know, seeing it become real, it—it feels natural suddenly, you know.”

I do know. I feel the same way. I didn’t realize it until I saw the paper today, but it just seemed a farce before. And I didn’t want Justin and I to be a part of it, to show we wanted something that we couldn’t have. Fuck them. But now…

“Yeah,” I say, and he understands everything I’m thinking in that one word.

He crawls on top of me, perching his chin on my chest, his fingers running through my hair. “I don’t want a big wedding. Just city hall.”

I nod. Sounds perfect to me.

“But I want to wear the suits we picked out, you know, before.”

I nod again. Exactly what I was thinking. “And golden gardenias?” I tease.

He groans, “I can’t believe I asked for those, but now that you’ve actually made them, like, our thing on our anniversary.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I deadpan. Yes, I may remember certain key dates and holidays and birthdays now, and I’ll do my part so long as he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. It’s an unspoken agreement. I’m romantic. He pretends it’s normal. We survive.

But this time, he pokes me, “Whatever. You know where to get them. What about our friends? My mom? Should they come?”

“If we could just do it today, I’d say no, but the law won’t go into effect for a month so—“ he cuts me off suddenly, literally pouncing, ripping of my sweats, and grinding his nakedness against me.

“That’s so fucking hot,” he moans as he licks his way down my body, “you want to marry me today.” Ah, so that’s what got him so horny? Might as well go along with it. This time we fuck fast and furious – the way he likes. I bend him in half, pounding into him, as our mouths tangle together.

Some time later, after two orgasms that will go down in the history books, I roll off him and light a cigarette. He smiles. He knows I’ve cut back to only the occasionally smoke after really fucking hot sex. Gus lecturing me one Christmas pretty much took all the fun out of the habit when he burst into tears and said if I died, he’d never forgive me. Kids. Take over everything. Gotta love ‘em.

“My mom would kill us if we didn’t invite her,” Justin decides, snagging a drag off my cigarette.

“You know how I love talking about your mom in bed,” I sigh.

He ignores me, “And we’ll invite the gang too. Deb would cut off your balls if we left her out. Then we’ll take everyone out for a big dinner. And dancing. Dinner and dancing.”

“Joy,” I say with my usual smirk, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

He smiles over at me, “I love you.”

I give him a disgusted look, “You know I don’t do love.”

He looks shocked for a second, then busts out laughing. “God, I haven’t heard you say that in forever.”

He suddenly transforms into a whiney seventeen-year-old kid, “Someday, you’ll marry me Brian Kinney.”

“What, you and I?” I’m pulled back to Lindsay and Mel’s wedding when Justin first floated the idea.

“Yeah, stranger things have happened,” he says, and clearly he remembers too.

“Not likely,” I reply on cue.

“If one day, let’s say, you change your wicked ways, accept love, and marry me, what do I get?”

“Hmm, a honeymoon to Bora, Bora?”

“Really?” he says, beaming, already knowing it’s true.

“Yeah, I mean if I ever go insane, fall in love, profess it to some twink, and live with him in a fabulous loft in Manhattan, then yeah, I guess I can fucking splurge for a honeymoon.”

This time when he leans in, sweetly kisses me, and murmurs, “I love you.”

I say it back, “I love you, too.”


End file.
